Quite Contrary
by SpringSnow
Summary: Season Two orientation. Rory muses about a certain potential that never blossomed. May be a one-shot. Old-School Trory. That's right, I'm regressing to the classics. Rated a cautious T.
1. Chapter 1

Oy, with the poodles already. That quote, these characters, and the show Gilmore Girls are part of a depressingly extensive list of things that do not belong to me. Honestly, what's the point of even putting together a wish list every year? I still don't have anything TV-show-related that's on it every time!

Hi all, SpringSnow here. Wow, I know I'm going quite a way back to the Trory focus, but I stumbled across this chapter I'd written a few years ago the other day. I'm not a writer, by any stretch, and thought I'd re-read it and mock myself, but then I decided, what the h#ll, why not put it online and let others join the taunting. If that's what you're here for, have fun!

Having expressed my supreme lack of confidence in my 'writing' abilities, if you came here because you'd like a bit of Trory-oriented fluffiness, then you might as well have a look, too. I don't think you'll come to any actual harm by giving it a go. Perhaps it'll surprise you, and me. I haven't ever been tortured, but I have had a toothache before, so at the very least I _can_ assure you that reading this fanfic does not hurt anywhere near as much as a dull, constant ache in your lower left jaw. I bet that's comforting.

You know, I really need to get over him.

It'd help if I could just stop thinking about him. Yeah, go on Rory. Just stop. Easy, right?

But if it was that easy I'd have gotten over it ages ago. Whatever it is. It's never that simple. It was hard enough before.

It's not like anything really even happened. He didn't even like me. Definitely not like _that_.

I didn't even like him! He was always teasing me, and I always got that feeling when I saw him – you know, when you know he was just talking about you. I've always hated that feeling. You get it all the time at this school. Everyone seems to be looking at you. What was worse, whenever he actually talked _to_ me I knew they really were looking at me, and it wasn't just my paranoia.

But I'm missing the point. It didn't start until after he left. It's complicated. There's a cliché, if I ever heard one. Go, Rory. I was upset, not for me, but for him. I know he didn't want to go. He always tried to act so untouchable, but it was only an act. You could see through if you knew how to look.

And I was a little upset for me, too. No one knew; certainly not him. I don't want anyone to know that I felt sad that day. I never let on that I liked talking to him. But really, who can resist a little verbal sparring match? With my upbringing, certainly not me. At first, he was just so annoying. You know – that little-brother type of annoying. The 'Am-I-annoying-am-I-am-I-huh-huh-huh-huh?' endless antagonism.

But then I'd look at him, and when you really looked into his eyes you'd see this intense loneliness that almost compelled you to put up with him for just a minute more before he had to go back to being alone again. I always fell for that look - 'puppy-dog eyes'. He was certainly no innocent puppy, but those eyes made me think twice every time I started to turn away.

It was that paradox that caught me. The fact that he was always surrounded by people, but his eyes still held loneliness. The way he was able to make some crude remark at the same time as looking into you. He would never just look _at_ you. No, when he looked, it was straight in – straight through all your walls, to see the heart of you with one glance of ice-blue eyes. And, the fact that he changed.

When I first met him, he was just the obligatory school kid who had to have something to say about the new girl, not to mention who got first dibs on trying to score with her. Sexy, no? No. But gradually – very gradually – he apparently figured out how unattractive that was, and seemed to make an effort to actually relate to me in a way I wouldn't find instantly repulsive. Hiding it as best he could all the while, of course, so no one else would guess he might actually care about something in any serious capacity. It almost made him likeable. That may have been part of the beginning.

I wonder if he knew the effect he had on me. He didn't attract me in the traditional sense, not in the 'I want you' hormonal teenage way. Once he shook off his overly antagonistic, way too cocky nature and settled for mildly arrogant, he ended up mesmerising me. I found myself unable to look away. Captivated. That was the sort of person he was. Anyone at school would tell you that. Captivating.

So there I was. Troubled, you could best describe it, when he was sent away. I'll admit it, I was still relieved. Relieved that I didn't have to have a quick comeback at the ready whenever he was around, and relieved that he would stop looking at me. Looking at me like he knew what I was thinking, what I didn't even know for sure I was thinking myself, as he made some shallow quip about my bookworm tendencies or my being a Mary. Relieved that he wouldn't find out how close I came to laughing at his jokes while trying to keep a straight face so he would leave and I could stop thinking about him for a while. If he knew he was getting to me, then…

After he left, I continued. It didn't really sink in until more than a month after he went. But every time I went into school I'd catch myself automatically looking towards the spot where he always used to hang out with his friends. Whenever I got to my locker I tensed up in anticipation of his coming up and tapping me on the shoulder, or calling out to me. And every time I went to one of the classes we had shared, I would instinctively check his old seat. I even sat next to it a couple of times without even registering what I was doing.

The day all this hit me was just another day. Just another typical morning of getting to school with my coffee, looking over at his old friends, juggling my coffee and books at my locker with a neck aching from being held so stiffly, just waiting, and another day of getting that funny feeling, like you've just taken an extra step at the top of a staircase, when he wasn't in class. Finally, and unexpectedly, it clicked. It was all because of him!

I shouldn't have been so surprised. But denial is almost as powerful as ignorance, and so even the part of me that had already realised I missed him was still playing dumb. I sat at the back of the classroom, mouth slightly agape, just taking it all in at last. The teacher didn't seem to mind. I just couldn't help it. All this time and it was because of him.

So I was still thinking about him almost every day, but now I realised what I was doing. Whether on the bus, or in the hall, or at Luke's, my brain would occasionally dredge up a random memory, that always made me want to laugh. I missed him.

I'd get so annoyed at myself, too. It was just so ridiculous. He'd been gone for months. By the time the school term ended and I found myself sitting in the assembly wondering what he was doing and if he missed being at school, I wanted to scream. He wasn't even there and he was driving me mad! I noticed him more now than I ever had when he'd been around! Ironic? Well, fantastic. All it would take was one memory, triggered by a word or a pose or even a smell, and his voice could fill my head, gently mocking. It was maddening.

But this new obsession was to prove bearable, compared to what happened next.

Nothing _could_ compare to that.

He came back.

I had avoided thoughts of him almost all holidays. Every time my mind wandered even vaguely in his direction, I firmly told myself to think about something else. Birds, pineapples, Kirk, the Cold War, anything. It sometimes even worked.

Even doing that was counterproductive, though – because by forcing myself not to think about him I was thinking about him by not thinking about him, and then I'd have to stop myself thinking about not thinking about him, all the while still thinking about him. No wonder my head hurt all summer.

None of it ended up mattering, anyway.

The next term, as I walked into Chilton for the first day of my senior year, after having taken pains to avoid looking at his old spot like a fool, a voice lanced into my consciousness. No, not a voice – a ghost.

"Mary! My lovely Mary quite contrary. Miss me?"

Unbelievable. Tristan DuGrey.

Hey, if you're still here, and your jaw has remained ache-free, and you want to review, I'm not going to say no. In fact, I'm going to say puh-lease review? For me? What if no-one else does? How bad will it make you feel to know you've made me feel bad by not reviewing?

Oh.

Never mind, then. Sniff


	2. Chapter 2

As if I hadn't been confused enough for the last – well, months now

Good news! I'm back! waits for cheer squad Huh. I may have forgotten to organise that. First thing's first: I own very little in my life. Among the much, much longer list of things I do NOT own is anything and everything related to the WB, the CW, or to Gilmore Girls. I'm just playing, borrowing to supplement the little I do own.

Next, some thank you's! I was so pleased to get any response to this story, given that I put it up on a whim, and for those who said my writing wasn't too bad, I don't entirely believe you but having said that I love flattery, so I'm taking it!

trory-love08, eternalgorithm, Nicole Katherine, Sephora07, Stars Hallow townie, jalna, nancy, jb4sports, preppygilmoreluver, allovertheplace, Gilmorecrazed2010, Curley-Q, and MaryBBlove23, thank you all for the reviews. They're just so appreciated. Also, I used a suggestion from preppygilmoreluver to do this chapter in Tristan's POV, so an extra thanks for you – and if you like his POV, feel free to praise their suggestion too! I did think about the ideas of how Rory could have responded to Tristan, and in my head I think I have her reaction, but for now I'm going with what Tristan saw.

Another side not, I really didn't deal with Rory's relationship status in the first chapter. In my world, she and Dean honestly just fizzled out a few weeks into summer break. In terms of the show, I think their relationship was completely stale by the second season anyway, but regardless of canon, in my fanfic and head, she's fine, he's fine, and they're just not together any more.

I was completely unsure whether inspiration for this little trory would ever strike again, but I couldn't sleep last night and all of a sudden, years after I ever wrote that first chapter, inexplicably, it did – so here it is. Decide whether you should be thanking me or cursing me for it after you've read the chapter!

Being a teenage bad boy isn't all it's cracked up to be, sometimes. I know, I know, poor little rich kid, right? And yeah, coming from a wealthy family has its perks – money can buy a lot of great stuff, whether the saying about happiness is true or not – but really, sometimes it's hard to remind myself what the point of it all is, if it's all really just about money.

So, fine, I screwed up last year. It may have had something to do with a certain unrequited thing I had going at the time, but then again it may not have, and I'm sure as hell not going to tell you either way. Daddy dearest finally laid down the law and I got the military boot. That was fun. No, really, what's not to like about military school? The reputation of those places is deserved, I'm pleased to be able to confirm for you. But then Dad got sick, and family duty called. It's normal to call my father 'Dad' in my head, and 'Sir' to his face, right? Just checking.

Dad's health began to head downhill about a month ago. High blood pressure, who didn't see that one coming, but then was that mild but still not fun stroke, and while he's physically okay at the moment, doctors have "strongly recommended" he "takes it easy" from now on. Which is of course something that comes very naturally to my father – so mother recalled me from exile to help her enforce the rules. Sure, Dad, why not just go to several high stakes meetings that your deputies could handle perfectly well on their own. It'll only cost you your heart, your kidneys or your sight, to pick out just a few possible complications of your continued high blood pressure. Small price to pay to make sure the people you hired do what they've been doing for years, very well. While my role is really just being around in case mother feels like interacting with someone other than Dad or her very understanding merlot, it still meant I had to come back.

Home sweet home.

I realise everyone's got me all figured out. I'm the cool kid. The richest of the rich. The head of the high school pack. It's actually kind of comforting that all the people around me think I'm that shallow, that that's all there is to me. No need to try to be anyone when they're telling you who you should be.

I wonder what those people would do if I started to challenge their perception of me. How would they react if I put up my hand in class and told them about the insight I'd had into how crucial propaganda was for crowd control during WWII, for the Allies as well as the Nazis. Shocking, right? My god, he had an original thought – or at the very least, he's been thinking! No, it's better to let people believe what they will believe of me, to not mess with the status quo. I guess it's ironic that when life's handed me a spot at the top of the high school food chain I'm stressing. Be happy, right? Stick to the job description: cool, pretty, dumb. Right, got it. I can do that, can be that. So I do.

As if being back at home now isn't enough fun for me, there's also going back to Chilton for senior year to contend with. I'm getting so frustrated at myself, because I'm looking forward to getting back there for the wrong reason, and I can't stop myself from wanting to see her. I'm not stupid, despite recently popular opinion, I realise that if she'd worn a sign reading "Not Interested" it still wouldn't have been as clear as her complete indifference to me, so I get it, nothing going there, and fine – I just want to see her. And if there's a tiny part of me that's been infected by being made to watch one too many chick flicks with random girlfriends over the years that thinks she may just have been pining away for me, well, nothing's going to help me eradicate that absurd idea than by seeing her not-react to me again. That's the only reason I want to see her. Just to remind myself why it doesn't even matter if I do see her or not. No problem at all.

Monday comes, inevitably, and I begin my victory lap through the halls of my reclaimed stomping ground, wading through the adulation of my high school court, before settling effortlessly back into the exact spot I used to haunt before I left. It's that easy. Nothing like getting sent off to military school to help keep the bad boy cred alive, I guess – I'm more popular than ever. Joy. For the moment, I let it all wash over me. I'm not entirely sure where I want to settle back in to my school, with the same buddies or not, and given that I apparently have plenty of choice there's no need to decide just yet.

What I am clearly not doing, all morning before class, while greeting long-lost pals and taking note of my evidently undiminished attraction among the women of Chilton, is looking for her. Because, as I've already figured out, that's stupid, and fruitless, and I really don't care. So if I seem to be searching fairly thoroughly through the faces of the crowd as they file past me with greetings on their way through Chilton's hallowed halls, it's obviously just because I'm looking forward to catching up with more of my old friends. Can I help it if I was popular and there are lots of people to look forward to running in to again? And, if I appear to take a special interest in re-acquainting myself with brunettes I see from behind or from afar, I'm a friendly guy and that's absolutely all it is.

And there she is. Just like that, she flits past me, not even looking in my direction. I'm not surprised, and that is certainly not a pang of something like hurt or regret because she's once again brushed past me, as disaffected as ever.

I know I'm an idiot, but after all this time away, all this time _not_ thinking about her, I can't just let her pass me by. But, of course, I can't just go and talk to her, either – 'cause you're not rocking the boat, right Tristan? You're just being what's expected of you. Sure. So, instead, I put on my out-of-practice sparring voice, and drawl after her, "Mary! My lovely Mary quite contrary. Miss me?"

It's worth it. I don't even care that that not-pang has sharpened, that I'm fueling my own hopeless fixation with her. She looks over at me. If I hadn't spent much more time than was healthy noticing her before I was sent away, if I hadn't spent even more time than that remembering the things I liked best to notice about her when I let myself have a few minutes to think about her at that other 'school', I might have missed a lot of what happens as she takes in my re-appearance, and that would have been a real pity.

Surprise, sure, there's a healthy dose of shock. There's also annoyance, instinctively resurrected at just the sound of my voice. I think to myself that that's actually pretty great – I've obviously left some kind of impression for her to react so readily to me, even if it's in exasperation. But in amongst the shock, before she scowls so prettily in my direction, before she turns away and resolutely walks away once more, before she closes herself off from me, I see a ghost of a smile.

And I don't care about any of her other reactions, because I said hi to Rory, to my Mary, and she smiled at me, just a little.

It's enough.


End file.
